


Measuring the Depths

by TheGoldenGhost



Category: Vingt mille lieues sous les mers | Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea - Jules Verne
Genre: Also Kissing, Flirting, Getting to Know Each Other, I wanted there to be more fish but fish will come later I guess, M/M, and philosophical debate, because when these two flirt it always ends up being philosophical somehow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21930772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGoldenGhost/pseuds/TheGoldenGhost
Summary: While conducting experiments on the values and properties of South Pacific seawater, Pierre Aronnax finds himself distracted by the presence of the Nautilus's captain.
Relationships: Pierre Aronnax/Capitaine Nemo | Pierre Aronnax/Captain Nemo
Comments: 10
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> Please meet a fic I like to call "the reason I haven't posted Chapter 6 of Northward Bound." It's legitimately not up yet because I was writing this. Hopefully this makes up for it!
> 
> I also hope it can have the distinction of being one of the few, if not the only, fic to start off with "conducting experiments on the values and properties of South Pacific seawater." Man, nothing says Peak Romance like
> 
> One final thing - I tried to be more true to the style of the book in this one. Kinda similar stylistically to what I tried with a previous fic of mine, Night's Passage, but I amped it up a little this time. With any luck it shows. Maybe it doesn't. I think it turned out all right either way. Hope you enjoy!

I was trying to focus on our tests of the South Pacific seawater – its salinity, color, buoyancy, solvency, and the temperatures measured at various depths. These among other things including the fantastic sponges, marine mollusks, Protista, bony fish, and sharks we’d found in the area should have kept me busy.

However, Nemo was very close beside me, deeply transfixed by the studies we were conducting. Fascinated though I was, and content with our budding discoveries, I could not help by be distracted by his nearness, the angle of his downturned face, and the look in his deep black eyes as he pored over the separate vials of seawater we’d taken and so carefully labeled for future study.

He did not seem to notice me until his shoulder brushed mine when we reached out in unison to take a vial from 300 meters deep. At that, he straightened up, looking me over with a touch of good humor that pleased me to see in him. “After you, Professor.”

I thanked him and took the vial, continuing to steal glances at him and chiding myself for not being more focused on my work. In truth, I was usually diligent and enraptured by the thousands of specimens of marine flora and fauna that I came across on a regular basis. With Conseil, nothing could draw my attention from documenting and learning about them. On my own, I was methodical and precise. It was only when the captain was so near, close enough that our arms were practically touching, that I tended to lose my concentration.

In a fit of boldness, I pressed my arm to his to see how he’d react. I expected him to maintain a polite distance and pull away almost at once, but he did not. Instead he waited a few moments before he reached for another container. This was most promising, but perhaps he’d only been so deep in thought that he hadn’t even noticed my touch.

I returned to my work, frustrated with myself for letting my impulses get the better of me. For Heaven’s sake, he was my captor! This man was directly responsible for taking away my freedom, forbidding me to see my family again, and risking my long-held career and livelihood. And here I was, throwing myself against him like a moonstruck schoolchild?

Well. Yes. He was my captor, but I also considered him my friend, and I’d not had any masculine attention in months, though Ned had offered, once or twice. I declined. He and Conseil seemed to be engaged in… something, lately, and as Conseil so rarely took that kind of initiative it seemed wrong of me to intrude. Besides, I couldn’t deny the simple fact that there was only one man aboard this ship that drew me like a school of fish to our beacon-light.

And that man was here beside me, engaged in our shared passion. I wasn’t certain where to go from here. Were we in Paris, in my element and on equal ground as individuals, I would have taken his face in my hands and kissed him, exploring the textures of his skin and his mouth. I would have done so without hesitation, and when he looked back at me, his eyes would be filled with a mixture of surprise and desire that would allow me to press further –

Except we weren’t in Paris, so I couldn’t do any of that. We were on his ship, in _his_ element. Moving in on him just felt out of place. He was the captain, and as his passenger, I was under his command. He rarely ever actually gave me a direct order, it was true. Mostly, he only made offers and suggestions, always keeping up the façade that we were guests aboard his ship, traveling with him by choice, when we both knew that this was not so. But all the same, I did not know how he’d react to being touched, not in the way that I desired to touch him. And I hardly dared to find out.

We continued this way, silently, for around fifteen minutes when Nemo spoke offhandedly. “Distracted today, Professor?”

I looked up at him in shock, uncertain how he could have known. It always unnerved me when he seemed to state exactly what I was thinking. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve made a calculation error,” he replied, placing a finger underneath a spot where I had, indeed, calculated incorrectly. He was sharp to spot it, but I was embarrassed at having made a juvenile mistake when we were working together. It was no lie that I wanted to impress him.

“Stupid of me,” I muttered to myself.

“Not at all,” he replied lightly. “I know I’ve been prone to miscalculate at the best of times. Sometimes I think I’m better suited to music than to science. But then, I don’t wonder if the two don’t rely on one another. Everything, in the end, is mathematics.”

“I think there is an argument to be made that art does not require an understanding of that field. It can be improved with it, yes, but true art comes from the human soul, and one’s connection with it.”

“Indeed? But what is music without structure? Only a jumble of sounds?”

“And what is music without passion? Only a static rhythm with no feeling to it?”

He gave me one of his rare genuine smiles, his eyes brightening. At this point he seemed to concede the argument and said nothing more for a bit. I followed his example, correcting my work and carrying on.

“You’re a romantic, Professor,” he said at last, making me look up in surprise. “I did not know this.”

“Of course. I am French,” my eyes met his and I was able to hold his gaze for only a moment before I had to look down again and return to the paper I was writing upon.

“Well,” he went on. “You’re also a man of science, are you not? There are those scientific minds who tend to set aside their humanity for the sake of figures and stern, cold reason.”

“I try to be a man of reason,” I replied. “When faced with a problem necessary of it. But in terms of human expression – who can reason that? There may yet be ways to quantify the human mind and measure its functions, but the parts that go beyond that, the soul and spirit…I don’t know that they can truly be placed on such limited methodical terms.”

He regarded me for a long moment, perhaps ruminating a reply. I expected him to come up with something that would get me thinking. Instead, though, he rested his fingertips lightly on the back of my hand, and I shivered inwardly. It was the first time he’d ever touched me. I did not pull away, and though his touch was delicate, almost tentative, he did not either. When he registered no resistance on my part, he turned my hand over and slipped his fingers in between mine.

This whole event caught me off guard, not only because I hadn’t expected him to do it – imagined it dozens of times, it was true, but never expected it – but because I thought somehow that his grip would be more firm. He commanded his ship with such confidence and poise that I always pictured his initiative would be the same, but his gestures were as gentle as a summer breeze.

I broke the moment by saying something completely foolish. “Is this – is this how you often treat your prisoners?”

His eyes darkened as he immediately jerked his hand away. “What?”

“No, I didn’t mean that! Well, it is true that we are your –“

“Prisoners,” he finished grimly. “I must have been mistaken...”

“Mistaken in what?”

He turned his head away from me, assuming the grace and dignity of a king. Perhaps I was imagining things, but in spite of his haughty expression he seemed somewhat flushed.

“If you thought I was interested in you, sir, then – you were absolutely correct,” I said. He did not turn to look at me, but his face softened a fraction. “I spoke too hastily. Although it is true that you’ve put me in a bit of an awkward position. You are my jailer, and at the same time my companion. And if I may speak candidly, your touch was _not_ unwanted.”

He faced me again, slowly. “I don’t want to keep you in a miserable state of imprisonment,” he replied. His voice was very quiet. “But if you all leave – not only you, but Mr. Land and Mr. Conseil, do you suppose I will not be found out and hunted down? My ship, seized or decimated? My friends, killed for their loyalties to me? At the very least, we would have to live a life of terror, constantly on the run from the nations we chose to desert. I will not let that happen,” his eyes held a mixture of sorrow and conviction. “I cannot.”

I sighed. “I understand that much, at least.”

“Thank you,” he said. He seemed subdued, saddened. I took his hand in mine and brought it to my lips, giving him a few gentle kisses to let him know that if I was not happy with his actions, I could at least forgive him.

That seemed to awaken something in him. When I lowered his hand he came forward, pressing his forehead to mine so that I could look up easily into his face. If I chose, I could have kissed him there, but I waited. “How did you guess that I was interested in other men?” I asked. “Was it my reputation? I’ve tried to be discreet all these years, but I suppose word travels.”

His eyes widened. “No, I had no idea you had a reputation. Actually, I saw you with Mr. Land.”

“Ah, Ned…”

He drew back a little, giving me a crooked smile. “Is there anything going on with him I ought to know about? I don’t really fancy adding to his list of reasons to dislike me.”

“No. Nothing like that. Conseil has him.”

Nemo nodded silently.

“As for me, I’ve been fascinated by you since we came aboard. But I didn’t realize you felt the same way.”

He gave me a long look. His eyes so thoroughly searched my face that I began to feel like one of our specimens under scrutiny. I faced him directly, wanting almost to melt into those black eyes and be carried away by the magnificent and brilliant soul beneath them. I wanted, in short, to wrap myself inside his presence and make a home there, however briefly I may. At last he spoke: “I did. I did not want to admit it to myself, but I did. At first I thought it was only your writings that intrigued me. You’re a remarkable scientist. But lately it’s more than that…”

“How so?”

His mouth tightened, and his eyes did not meet mine directly. With a jolt I realized that he was embarrassed – the captain! Embarrassed by someone so trivial as me! But he was, and I politely looked away so as not to make him any more uncomfortable. “Your presence,” he said finally. “It’s not just your notes or your ideas that interest me so much. When you’re not around, I sometimes find myself wondering when I’ll see you again. And when I am called away, I think back to you… more often than I would prefer.”

My heart skipped a beat to hear this confession. “Then it’s true?”

He nodded. I wanted to grab him by the collar and kiss him then, but I remained respectful, out of honor to him. If I’d been allowed I would have courted him in every way I knew how, but an honest admission of interest didn’t necessarily mean he wanted to pursue it. I knew that very well. “Captain,” I began. “Forgive me if this is too personal a question.”

“Continue.”

“Have you kissed many men?”

He gave me a look that was half-smiling, half-guarded, as if he was not certain how to answer, and did not entirely trust what my reaction would be. “Not a single one.”

“None? Not even any of the companions you’ve taken to the sea with?”

He shook his head. “They are my friends. They are not lovers, and I don’t think it would be appropriate to treat them as such.”

I’d had many friends who were also my lovers, even if briefly, so I could not fathom this. But I didn’t question his private reservations. I simply carried on with my intentions. “In that case, may I show you how it’s done?”

For a moment he cast his eyes downward in a way that, had I not known him better, I would have mistaken for shyness. As it was, it was an unusual expression for him. I awaited his answer with my pulse beating rapidly. His eyes flicked back up suddenly and caught mine with their full intensity, which would have, had I not been seated, been enough to knock me over. “You may, Professor,” he said quietly.

“If I’m going to do this, I want you to call me Pierre, all right?” I replied, gently putting my hands on his shoulders to draw him closer to me, feeling the strength and the rigidness of his muscles. He was _definitely_ flushed now, but in truth, so was I, and I didn’t care anymore. “No lover of mine has ever called me ‘Professor’ and I don’t intend to start that with you.”

“Suppose we aren’t lovers? Suppose this is just experimentation?”

“It doesn’t matter. You can _experiment_ with my given name.”

His eyes gleamed. “If that is the case, Pierre, then I want you to call me Nemo.”

The sound of my name in his voice filled me with more emotion than I knew how to express. “Nemo, then.” With that, I leaned up to press my mouth against his, holding him tight. I took everything in at that moment – the softness of his mouth, the texture of his skin, the feel of his breathing and heartbeat so close to mine. I could feel his body moving against me – warm and strong, and yet somehow refined at the same time. Somewhat unexpectedly, he placed his hand against the back of my head, twining his fingers through my hair. In this way he held me in that position and I could only move forward, pressing further into him, and he relinquished without hesitation.

I continued forward boldly, deepening the kiss, but he eventually drew back and we faced each other, breathless. His face was alight, and I imagined mine was, too. I touched his face, tracing over the angles of his jawline with both hands. He was beautiful, just _beautiful_ , and I told him so.

I stopped when my fingers brushed over a curved scar just below his right ear, mostly hidden beneath his beard. It stretched down midway to his throat, and as a physician, I could tell that it had been a serious wound. “What happened?” I asked.

He shook his head, taking both my hands away from his face, holding them in his and kissing my fingers. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve been through many battles in my lifetime. You don’t need to know about them all.”

My curiosity rose to a fever pitch, but I had to be content with his answer. If he wanted to tell me, he would. All the same, I couldn’t help but wonder who or what had done this to him. I wanted to know his past, everything that had befallen him to bring him here, to the ocean which we shared. In return I would have gladly revealed my every memory, so that he could know me better, too.

I began to kiss him again, more fiercely this time, trying to slip off his jacket as I did. He caught my hands again, lightly holding them, looking at me with an expression of contented bemusement. “You wouldn’t get far,” he reminded me. “Even if I removed this, you’d still have to contend with the byssus cloth,” with that he shrugged out of his jacket and faced me wearing only his shirt. This, unfortunately, was stitched securely out of solid fabric – no buttons or clasps to speak of, and so strong and tight that it would not be easy to get take off, unless he did it himself.

I opened my mouth and then closed it, flustered at having been called out in such a way, but he forgave me easily, running his hand through my hair. “Captain – Nemo,” I said, attempting to keep calm. “May we continue this in my cabin?”

His smile faded a bit as a flicker of doubt crossed his face and eyes. He appeared to be torn between polite refusal and longing. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I don’t think I’m wrong about your intentions there.”

“No,” I replied. “But you’re under no obligation. I am yours to command,” I bowed to him slightly. “And therefore you can have me, or refuse me, at your leisure.”

He stared at me, his jaw working as he mulled something over. I admit, I had not been looked at with such an expression of hunger in many months – perhaps even longer, and I could not help the rush of satisfaction and desire for him I felt in that moment. It only increased when he reclined, tracing his thumb across his lower lip as his brow furrowed in a pondering look and he murmured, “I do want you. You’ve no idea how much.”

“Then I am yours.”

“It’s not that simple. You know I was a married man?”

I blinked. “No. Although I’m hardly shocked. But you spoke in past tense, so you aren’t any longer, I would guess. And your wife doesn’t seem to be here on the ship, unless you’re hiding her somewhere. A veritable Mr. Rochester, are you?”

His mouth twitched. “No. She died a long time ago.”

“Then I guess she won’t protest.”

He sighed, and a look of sadness came into his eyes. “I suppose not. Still, I feel as though I ought to honor her memory somehow. Stay loyal to her. That it wouldn’t be right to…“

“You don’t have to,” I answered. “I have stated before, it’s up to you entirely.”

His eyes closed for a moment. “We can go to your room,” he said quietly. “But I’m not going to make any promises about what will happen there, Pierre. I honestly can’t say whether I am prepared for this. You’re a Parisian, and one who has had experience, before, with other men, but I am not. I’m only a widower who has spent much of my life devoted to the ocean.”

“She’s a difficult lover,” I remarked. “So many changing moods. I’ll have a hell of a time keeping up, I think!”

“I adore her,” he replied in a soft voice. “She can be so gentle, so vibrant, and exquisitely beautiful. But she’s fierce sometimes, and you’re persistent. Persistent, and unduly handsome.”

A flush of joy crept across my face at his compliment. “Nemo?”

“Yes?”

“Will the ocean pardon me if I turn her lover to an adulterer? Will she drown me the next time I step foot beneath her?”

He smiled. “Well. I am not her only lover. I think she can learn to share. Besides, you’ve given over to her, too.”

“I have,” I admitted, my heart beating with intense passion that he could know this about me. How could it be possible? And yet, I could guess things about him, too. Intimate things, that he would only confirm later, in the quiet solitude of the salon, or in the privacy of our adjoining rooms. “I do think of her – of it – as my home, now. I know it’s your element foremost, and you hold it as your domain, but… I cannot help but feel as though I have a right to it, too.”

His eyes seemed to glow with a mixture of astonishment and affection so powerful that I could barely look him in the face. I laughed, about to ask him if it meant so much, but before I could do so, he proved the point. He pulled me into another kiss, shedding all the delicacy and hesitation he’d previously had. This time he almost bowled me over, and I gripped the side of the table to get my balance before wrapping my arms about him and squeezing tight.

For a moment I wondered what about his loyalty to his wife, but I would not ask. I was quickly learning that with him, there was a fine line to walk between teasing and cruelty, and I already knew that whoever she was, he had loved her very much. I hoped privately that her spirit rested, and that she, like the ocean itself, was benevolent enough to let me share him for a while.

He was, once again, the first to pull away, and we sat for a long moment in quiet regard, at ease with each other in a way that I could not quite describe. 

“Come with me,” I murmured to him. “Please?”

“You don’t need to beg. I will,” he answered, and my breathing quickened. He reached out to run his thumb across my cheek briefly before clearing away many of the vials and notes gathered on the table. “You can go. I’ll be in in a moment.”

I entered my room, amazed and breathless at what had just transpired outside in the salon. As I stripped off my jacket I wondered if perhaps he’d only said that to get rid of me, and had no intentions of coming to join me inside. But no. When I turned back towards the door, there he was, a picture of grace and refinement. His movements were as subtle and strong as the undercurrents that flowed through the sea we both so loved.

I bowed to him, and he took my hand in his. “Pierre.”

“Nemo.”

He gave me a soft, somewhat quizzical look, as if he was waiting for me to make a move. Suddenly I felt stuck, as though all my prior certainties about exactly what I’d do with him once I had him were proving to be wonderful in fantasy but almost too much in reality. I stared up at him. “I hope you can forgive me, my dear, if I don’t know how to proceed right away. It’s not often I get the chance to love a man who could well call himself a king.”

His response was a gentle kiss on my forehead.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the voyage to Atlantis, Pierre Aronnax has many questions that he calls upon Nemo to answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops my hand slipped.
> 
> Okay, so you know how this was meant to be a standalone work? Well, it was, but then I was thinking "hey, what happened after Atlantis anyway? And what else is going on between them? Should I continue?" And so I did and here's the continuation. Thanks, as always, for reading!

“Goodnight, Professor. Or should I say, good morning?” I felt the captain’s hand clasp my shoulder for a brief instant and saw him give me a wry smile before he headed into his room to sleep. I knew I needed to follow suit – after that night’s long expedition, and having stayed up so late the previous one, I hadn’t slept very much at all in forty-eight hours.

I should have been tired, but at that moment, sleep was one of the last things on my mind. Escaping this wondrous ship was even further – I mentally apologized to Ned, but to leave, now! How could I? This night had proven that this journey held, for us, not just the ordinary magnificence of scientific marvels that surpassed anything the modern world could provide, but the chance to see _legends!_

I had witnessed Atlantis, up close, with my own eyes! Had there been time, I could have climbed down, walked where the ancient sea-people walked, perhaps even explored their city, scouring their ruins for some writings carved in the stone. Maybe I could have read their thoughts, their discoveries! And what of Nemo? Did he know their language? Was the mysterious dialect spoken aboard the ship some variation of their ancient tongue? Had he already uncovered their history and learned their secrets?

The thought made my pulse race and my head spin. No other man knew about this aside from the Captain and me, not even the others aboard this ship, and though I wanted more than anything to share it with Conseil… I knew I couldn’t. Nemo hadn’t sworn me to secrecy, but he _had_ taken me out alone. Somehow, without him ever saying it, I knew that this was meant to be a private venture just between the two of us and no one else.

I wanted so badly to discuss this with him. I was practically bursting out of my skin with the desire to know what it was he thought; how he had discovered this ancient secret, what he knew about it, what there was still to uncover. But he’d gone to bed, foiling my plans!

I stretched; my body was sore from walking so far and my legs felt cramped from being in the diving suit for nearly a full night. I knew I should lie down. I went into my room, got into my bedclothes and expected to be up for hours, thinking and musing, but the _Nautilus_ replenished her air and then began to sink, and as the cool, refreshing air filled the room and the light dimmed to a dark blue, I found that sleep came much more easily than I would have ever expected.

Minutes or perhaps hours later, I awoke. The bed was soft and comfortable and I realized then just how exhausted I was. Content to have the morning to myself to get some rest, I was about to roll over and fall back asleep when I felt eyes on me.

I looked up. The door to the Captain’s cabin was open, and he was inside, sitting at his desk chair, watching me. His gaze wasn’t ominous or invasive but merely curious. He looked politely away when he saw me catch him. “What are you doing, sir?” I asked.

“I was only checking to see if you were awake. I’ll shut the door if it bothers you, you can have some more sleep.”

“Did you sleep at all?” I wondered.

“Yes; a bit. I only woke up a few minutes ago and came over to see how you were faring.” I noticed that he hadn’t changed out of his bedclothes; all he had on was his simple robe and loose-fitting shirt and pants. Having never seen him dressed any other way than in his typical elegance, I found this rather amusing.

I arched my back in a stretch and sat up. Already I was beginning to feel more alert, though I wasn’t keen on getting up and working just yet. “So,” I said. “Can we talk about last night, or are you busy? I plan to make copious notes and I’m sure having the opinions of an expert will help.”

“We can talk about it,” He glanced at the clock on the far wall of his room. “For a few minutes, at least. I should be going soon, but in the meantime, what is it you wanted to discuss?”

“Everything!” A few minutes were simply not enough, for I was practically overcome with my desires to know all that he knew. He smiled in a way that indicated that I was not alone in my fascination; calm as he was, his expression revealed honest anticipation and excitement that mirrored my own.

He came into the room; I expected he would sit on the chair by the desk, but instead he decided to place himself at the end of my bed. This excited me further – he was near enough to touch and for a split second I wondered if I’d again be blessed with the ability to caress him the way we’d done in the South Pacific. We hadn’t engaged since then; not even when he took me through the Arabian Tunnel, but I so desperately wanted to. He didn’t come nearer, but he was there – close enough that I could have held his hand.

“What,” he said to begin with, “Do you mean by ‘everything?’ That’s very vague, Professor.”

He was calling me “Professor” and not “Pierre” as he would have done if he intended to act with me as he would a lover rather than a mere companion. I was disappointed, but not surprised. I knew the night we’d shared before had been, more than likely, a fluke. “How many of your men know about that lost country?”

“Five have seen it. The rest may have heard about it through what those men have told them. I don’t demand secrecy amongst my companions. We share the sea and her marvels, together.”

“Am I allowed, then, to tell _my_ companions what we saw last night?”

“You are,” he said, although his mouth tightened a bit as if the idea was not tasteful to him. “The three of you are my guests and as such have all the privileges to know what my companions know.”

I would never tell Ned Land or Conseil; I only wanted to hear what he would do if I told; if he would swear me to keep this knowledge private. Knowing he would not gave me comfort. “So you would tell me anything that is common knowledge amongst your men?”

“That is correct.”

“What’s your true name, then?”

He looked more offended by that than I would have expected, and I wondered where I had misstepped. I thought I was coming up with a clever trap. “Is that why you called me in here, to ask me about things I’ve told you I’d rather keep to myself? I thought you wanted to discuss our excursion, not my past.”

“I do!” I told him. I had gotten his hackles up without meaning to, and I regretted this already. “I only wondered why, if you say you’ll allow us to know all that your companions know…”

“I told you what country I was born in, Professor,” he said, sounding hurt. “I already have told you much about who I am, if you would listen. I discarded my old name when I boarded the _Nautilus_ , and I swore on that day that the man I used to be was dead. I never use his name anymore. Why is it so important for you to know it?”

“Because, sir, I want to know you,” I told him. It was an honest answer; as much as I craved answers about the deep sea and all its beauties and marvels, I also wanted to know what lay in the depths of Nemo’s heart and mind.

“It’s better that you don’t,” he said quietly. “Trust me on that.”

I sighed and reached out to take his hand, studying the elegant taper of his fingers, the strength and dexterity of his joints, the lines the etched his palm and swirled across his fingertips. I made a brief study of it; memorizing every nail and knuckle. His hands showed signs of his age – difficult to guess precisely, but judging by the weathering of his skin I would have estimated that he was at least forty-five years old. His coloring was a lovely deep brown; he was probably from a country near the Equator, or else his parents were, or perhaps even their parents. And he had scars – across the back of his left hand, along the joint of his thumb and near the nail of his forefinger on his right – but no callouses. A man accustomed to doing some sort of hazardous work with his hands; he was no mere scholar or artist, but not a laborer either. He watched me with an unreadable gaze but did not pull away.

“I just find it strange,” I said. “That I can touch you and hold you and I can’t know where you were born, or what you were called in your past life. I can’t know the names of your siblings, or parents, or your deceased wife, and I certainly can’t know, according to you, what it was that brought you out into the sea in the first place. What it was that brought you to me.”

He didn’t reply, just looked at me with an expression of near apology.

I decided not to press it any more. “Why did you take me out alone last night?”

“I thought you’d be the most interested,” he said. “Ned Land certainly prefers his sleep over a lesson in history, and Monsieur Conseil has always struck me as having more of a fascination with fish and their taxonomies than with ancient buildings.”

“Is that the only reason?”

His eyes glimmered, and I squeezed his hand. He didn’t answer the question; but the look in his eyes was enough. 

I wanted very badly then to kiss him, so I did. He leaned into me, taking me by the shoulders and pulling me close, filling me with a sense of joy and earnest. I admired the firm softness of his mouth and the way he both pushed and yet seemed to hesitate – feeling as much desire as I was, and yet always aware of himself, fighting for control, never wanting to force more then I wanted.

I wanted _everything_ , but could not be sure he wanted the same. We broke apart, and I took his face in my hands and stroked his cheeks, passing my fingertips over his forehead and around his eyes, admiring his face in all its beauty. He reminded me of a sculpture of some ancient deity or wise and noble king. He closed his eyes slowly and for a while simply allowed himself to experience being touched.

“You don’t know what you mean to me,” I told him.

He seemed to draw back a bit, and I expected that would be the end of it. But instead of leaving, he lay down on the bed, facing me, and I lay next to him. From there he began to tell me the tale of Atlantis, and I listened in fascination. It was a long story, filled with power and treachery and great discoveries in science; brilliant men and women who lived ages ago and who had their lives ended in tragedy, all their glory swallowed up by the sea and left to rot because of their errors; the will of the gods, perhaps, or their own fatal mistakes, or even just the unyielding hand of fate itself.

“The sea endures,” Nemo said. “Everything, in the end, returns to it. I believe that once, in the beginning, the Earth was all ocean. That the earliest forms of life arose in its nurturing embrace, and only when they had flourished and grown strong, and the volcanos of the deep had created the land, did they make the exodus away from their natural home.” He smiled gently, and I wanted to squeeze him in my arms and never let go. “Have you ever felt the call to return? I did, and I answered.”

“I have,” I would not have realized this, but I had, perhaps all my life, wanted to travel the world and loved the sea for being able to take me there.

“Do you regret being here? Do you ever desire your old life? Answer me honestly, Professor.”

“No, I don’t regret having been here. But yes, I do desire my old life,” I didn’t hide what I felt; and I could read in his face that he respected this. “You’ve shown me wonders that I could never begin to imagine only a few months ago, and yet, I miss my friends and family back ashore.”

“Do you have many friends? A large family?” he asked.

“No. A few friends, and a small handful of relatives. But that’s all I need.”

“It sounds lonely.”

“Not really. No lonelier than I think it would be, sailing around the world in solitary and never going ashore.”

He was silent for a long while, and so was I. I focused on the sound of his breathing; deep, steady. He had excellent lungs; years of clean sea air had done him good. And his eyes were beautiful; black and radiant like polished sea stones, or the darkened sky on a moonless night. “Can I tell you a secret, Captain?”

He nodded, and I told him. “If you were to grant me my freedom right now, with no strings attached, I think I’d stay with you a while longer.”

That made him smile. I noticed how his eyes crinkled up at the corners and seemed to grow even more bright and warm. “How much longer?”

“Until I uncover the secrets of the ocean. Until you’ve told me everything there is to know,” I made a move to hold his hand and found he was doing the same. Our hands met and I squeezed his, tight, enamored when he returned the gesture. His strength and grace was inspiring. “Until I either know you as well as any man can, or until I come to terms with the fact that I never, ever will.”

He leaned in and kissed me and I melted against him. I was so distracted by the pounding of my own heart that I couldn’t feel how hard his was beating – but I wanted to, I had to! I pressed my hand to his chest and he shivered with the sensation. I could feel what I wanted – his heart, drumming away in the cavern of his ribcage, just as hard and fast as mine was. His tongue was in my mouth and I could taste everything, feel every movement of his lips and mouth. Reaching up, I grasped his face in my hands and pulled him close to me. Perhaps I was being greedy now, but I didn’t care, I needed him, and he made absolutely no move to stop.

It went on, and I felt my body heating and reacting to his touch. Fearing what would happen if it continued, I broke away, staring into his face with a sense of mixed wonder and delight.

I let my hands travel down over his face and neck and again, as I had in the Pacific, I came to the scar that rested just below his ear, along his throat. Again, I had to ask. “What happened?”

His eyes darkened and he looked away. “You’re better off not knowing,” he muttered. “I have more scars than I care to count, and not one of them has a tale I’m willing to tell.” He looked at me, considered something, and then sighed. “I know how that sounds. But trust me, Professor; there are things you don’t want to know.”

“I don’t fear scars.”

“No?” He said, raising his head and looking at me with a sense of emboldened challenge. “You’ve not seen mine.”

“God, Nemo,” I muttered, undoing my shirt to show him where I’d been grazed once by the horn of a buffalo that charged at me during field work in Africa. The wound was rather nasty, and I’d frankly been lucky it wasn’t worse, but it had knitted over well enough and now left nothing more than a curved line across my belly and down part of my side. I showed him, and told him what had happened.

“A buffalo?” He asked, perplexed. “But they’re so gentle, usually.”

“Not this kind! The African species aren’t domesticated; they live wild on the plains and graze. But they’re strong enough to kill a lion, and if you get too close…”

“You could have died,” he remarked.

“Well… it wasn’t quite _that_ bad, I was lucky. But, there now, I’ve told you a story, now you owe me one!”

He looked pained. I noted this, and shook my head. “Fair enough. If it’s too hard for you, you don’t have to say anything.”

“I tried to take my own life,” he said quietly. “By cutting my throat.”

A chill ran through me, and I flinched. I regretted this at once. “Oh,” was all I could reply at first. “I’m… glad you didn’t succeed.” I knew this response was weak, but I couldn’t think of what else to say. _Stupid,_ I told myself. _What did you_ think _would cause a mark like that, anyway?_

He snorted, and his tone grew bitter. “I’m sure you are, now that I’ve survived to kidnap you and never let you go.”

“You mean you _still_ won’t let us go?” I asked softly, touching his hand. He’d grown rigidly still, and I wanted to change the subject. “Not even now…?”

He jerked back like I’d hit him and it surprised me so much that I gasped and ended up falling back against the headboard. I tried in vain to read his face, but he’d gone blank. “Nemo?” I asked, startled. “What did I say?”

“You’re actually trying to get me to let you go, is that right?” he asked, his eyes narrowed and gleaming with a bright and intense fury. “That’s why you called me here? You just want to get close to me so I’ll release you?”

“Are you always this suspicious, or am I just unlucky to have caught you on a bad day? No, that’s not what I’m doing,” I sat up straight on the bed and met his gaze. “For God’s sake, you were the one who sat with me through your Arabian tunnel and you were the one who invited me to Atlantis. I didn’t bring up either of those, _you_ did. I’m not the commander of this ship, sir. There’s not much I can do to pay you back. About all I can do is let you into my room, share an hour or two with you if you like. But if you’re going to suspect me of ulterior motives every time I do it, I won’t.”

His anger died as quickly as it had come, and he regarded me with a somewhat cool, haughty expression for a moment before dipping his head in recognition. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to imply that you’re a dishonest man.”

“I could have implied the same about you. For all I know, you brought me to Atlantis to soften me, make me more complicit in my own kidnapping!” the thought actually niggled in the back of my mind. “…That’s not why, is it?”

“No,” he murmured. “I only wanted to see the look on your face.”

I put my hand under his chin and began to work my fingers through the rough hairs of his beard, along the skin of his throat. I was glad to see he seemed to be warming to me again. He closed his eyes slowly, savoring the sensation. “What are you doing, Professor?”

“Do you remember the last time you were in here?”

“I do.”

“You called me Pierre then.”

“I know. But this…”

“What?” I brought my hand down to rest on his chest, feeling his heart beating through the fabric of his shirt. “Why can’t we have that again?”

He pressed my hand harder against his ribs, sighing in contentment. “Because neither of us is prepared for the consequences. You don’t know me, and you’d regret it if you did. And you…” he looked at me with those dark eyes and cut me right to the heart. “I could never love you in good conscience, sir. Not a prisoner.”

Not knowing how I could come back from such an admission, I shut my eyes in defeat and he kissed me again, softly this time. It was like we were lovers waking up from sleep after fifteen years together, and I was appalled that such a thought had even come into my head. Because he was right; I was a prisoner, and as such I was supposed to reject and loathe him with all my heart.

Instead, though, I brought him closer to me and drew my hands over his body through the fabric of his bedclothes, feeling the heat and movement that radiated from him. With a sudden and wild amusement, I wondered how I would _ever_ explain myself to Ned Land if he found out! But the feel of Nemo shivering under my touch was all the encouragement I needed, and so I pressed further, exploring his shoulders and chest, down across his abdomen and hips, and was just starting to work on his thighs when he stopped me.

“Pierre.”

“You’re calling me that now?”

He brought my hand to his mouth, kissed it hard, making my insides melt. I needed him so badly at that moment I thought I’d burst. “Nemo, if you have any doubts, you can voice them, but –“

“Do you realize what you’re doing?” His eyes were intense, almost searing, but I found that I was stronger than I realized – I could hold them without wavering.

“I do,” I said. “I swear to you by whatever god or gods you believe in, or by the power of the open sea, or by the freedom of your ship and the world she inhabits, or whatever it is you hold sacred that I know exactly what I’m doing.”

He made no resistance after that. After that I was allowed to unclasp his shirt and see his body for the first time with my own eyes. It matched his hands in all the most magnificent ways – weathered and battered by some long-ago hardships, marked by age, but beautifully formed. It held mysteries; trials and sufferings as well as a wealth of knowledge and brilliance and deeds that were so great and noble that I could not yet quantify them all in my mind.

He was not, in that way, unlike the majestic underwater city we’d viewed together only a few hours ago. That, too, was a ruin of something magnificent and full of wonders. But unlike the city; he was alive, and he could respond to my touch. He breathed and shuddered and moved in unison with me, warm and radiant, full of strength and energy. He was no stone statue of a man, not cold and immobile like a carved deity. He was real, and I could hold him. When he touched me I lit up like a beacon, and when I touched him he grasped me tightly and pulled me closer like he could unify us just by wishing.

During that next blessed period I learned how to touch him in perhaps a hundred different ways, and he returned each gesture, motion for motion. When at last we were exhausted and could do nothing more, we lay side by side, covered by the soft byssus sheets of my bed, staring at each other with identical looks of amazement and contentment. He held my hand, stroking my fingers with his own.

“Do you still have to work?” I asked between breaths, and he laughed for the first time I’d ever heard. It was a jubilant, ringing sound and so unlike his usual cool and controlled tone that it warmed me to my core.

He didn’t answer in words. He just wrapped his arms around me, buried his face against my neck and closed his eyes in sleep. I held him tight, feeling the power in his shoulders and softness of his hair as I leaned into him, ready to dream of love and exploration, secrets that lay hidden and secrets that I was soon to bring to light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (So now the truth comes out - Pierre really has got to stop judging Nemo for his shark-fighting adventures, when he's had at least one nasty encounter with a cape buffalo!)


End file.
